Nevosa
by TearStainedAngel24
Summary: He couldn't remember the first day he felt like he was imperfect, but he could remember how much it changed his life for the worst. Character death.


**A/N: Took a break from updates yesterday because of the Olympics. The opening ceremony was fauking amazing. Wrote this a while ago in one of the random bursts of self-loathing that I get hit with quite often. Do enjoy. UsUk if you use a microscope.  
**

Gods he felt so ugly…

He didn't remember when he had first felt imperfect, the day he chose to skip lunch. Perhaps it was after he saw the progress America was making on his diet, or after the frog had insulted his cooking once again. The day the insults on how he was just a cynical fallen empire finally got through to his heart. It had been so easy to just not…eat… When he felt hungry, he would go to eat, but the thought of their judging gaze, their snickers, automatically made him want to be sick.

Eventually, he had forced himself to eat, but he hadn't been able to stand the thought of food inside him. Before he knew it, he was in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet, fingers in the back of his throat. After that, he tried not to eat at all, just drinking water, and occasionally a small piece of fruit that he knew was necessary to keep him from attacking food and accidentally ingesting that foul substance. Not that he needed it, he was a nation, and so he couldn't die unless England fell completely.

Could he? Sometimes it felt like he was mortal, and that gave him a sense of control…almost like now he was the master of his own fate. Never mind the fact he was wasting away. The baggy suits and carefully worn gloves and sweaters covered that up easily. Of course, people didn't see the lie. They were all quite blind in that respect. He watched as others would insult America for being the fattest nation, when he knew he was only second by a measly portion. The though of how hideous he was kept him going. Never mind he had hit eighty pounds recently. It had felt like such an achievement to him, making him happy for once.

He hated seeing America beat himself up about being 'fat'. Couldn't he see he was so thin, absolutely perfect? England may have insulted him for being lazy and stupid, but never fat, not after he realized it was a lie. Not that America noticed.

"I'm not fat!" America yelled, glaring at Russia. The creepy nation just smiled back as always.

"Da, da." Russia said patronizingly and with an icy glare. The rest of the nations just snickered and some were shook into full-blown laughter. All accept England. He was sitting there, feeling ill. He couldn't help but question that if they were laughing at America, a perfectly fine individual, what were they saying about him behind his back? With this in mind, he stood up.

"Just because his nation has the highest obesity rate, doesn't mean that Alfred himself is fat." He growled, using America's human name for the first time in decades. It got the attention of everyone in the room. America looked shocked, but then grinned.

"Haha, the jerky limey's got it right!" America laughed, and gave his signature hero grin, before slapping England on the back and sitting down.

…jerky…limey?…

England spent the rest of the meeting trying not to cry his eyes out. He was getting thinner, and that was all that mattered. Maybe then they might like him if he was thinner. That was all that mattered now.

He didn't care about the pains in his joints or how he was cold all the time. He didn't care what was happening to his body. He looked in the mirror and all he could see was the fat of his cheeks, and he hated it. It meant that they still hated him. He made food for them all, and it was halfway decent for once because he had practiced for hours on end, but they still made fun of him.

"Britain, your hair is looking worst than usual. You should take better care of it, then maybe you could have locks like mine." France jeered, grinning fabulously. England just rolled his eyes, putting on a mask of cold uncaring. The truth was his words cut into his heart like a burning knife. It meant he still wasn't perfect. He still was not thin enough. Maybe if he weren't so fat then he would have more friends.

"I'm leaving." He said simply, seeing no reason to stay around with the other nations now the meeting was over. He hadn't talked with any of them recently, not that anybody cared. On his way out, a wave of nausea hit him, causing him to trip and fall. He was used to it by now, and slowly struggled to his feet to the sound of France's, America's, Spain's, Russia's, and several other nations' laughter. None of them realized how much trouble he was having staying on his feet. In fact, they didn't notice anything wrong with him. Oh how blind they were.

He hadn't eaten anything without throwing up in weeks, and yet he still felt imperfect. Never mind that he was under seventy pounds an extremely emaciated, he could only see how fat he thought he was. He felt so cold, and so tired too. He couldn't sleep at night, the pain in his stomach keeping him awake. Now life only seemed to be work, exercise, and sleep. Nothing seemed worth it anymore, being thin was the only important part of his life, and anything else was secondary. He was in a G8 meeting, and should have been paying attention, but he couldn't seem to focus anymore, it was all blurry. The other nations were leaving, so it must have been lunch break. Were they moving? The room was spinning too, was that normal?

Someone was talking to him, but he couldn't tell whom. They were laughing at him. They were all laughing at him. They were laughing at him all the time. The pain in his heart escalated suddenly, and with a gasp he passed out, leaving a very confused room of G8 members, who had watched as England stood up only to fall over again.

"Hey. Britain, dude, are you okay?" America questioned, poking England's stomach. Or what would have been his stomach, if it were not anything but bone now.

"He's sweating like crazy. The little idiot, wearing a jacket and pants like that on a day like this." France said with an affectionate smile, sliding the heavy coat off. What they saw, they could not believe. It wasn't England; it was a sack of bones. Pale, hollow, and skeletal like. Every bone in his bone was evident, you could count them.

"E-eh!" Canada yelped at the sight, not that anyone saw him. The emerald eyed nation was too thin, unnaturally so.

"…Call 911…" America said, horrified look on his face.

England had suffered from a heart attack, his body finally resorting to the muscle to feed itself. No one had been aware of his awful state, but it shook the world, especially those who were close to England. No one had expected it to turn out like this, no had expected England to be diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. It seemed America was the most shocked at England's state of health.

So when England was finally allowed visitors a week into his treatment, America was the first to visit him, he had refused to leave the hospital room since England was taken in, spending all his time there waiting for the green-eyed nation to wake up. He was followed by France, who had also stayed in the area waiting for news, and Canada, who had been staying with France in a hotel room across the street. Later, Sealand came with Finland, Sweden, and the rest of the Nordics. Individually came Japan, China, Russia, and oddly enough, Spain, Germany, Prussia, and other nations he had never known gave two rats about him. Even the two Italys came, even though they were terrified of him. Some were awkward half-hellos and get betters, others were them sobbing by his bedside, pleading for him to get better and asking why he would do this to himself ((America and France)). However, he was hardly conscious, and could only make out faces and form short sentences.

But he wasn't getting better. Despite everyone wanting him too, his body was too wasted to repair itself, even with extensive therapy. And that's why one day America, France, and many other nations awoke to the news that England had finally slipped from the world that night, his body's breakdown having enough of an affect to kill him, even though the nation he represented was still standing.

And all around the world wails of sadness arose to mourn the lost personification. No one knew that would happen, as a personification had never died without his or her nation falling before. But whatever happened next, one thing was for sure; Arthur Kirkland was dead.

**A/N: Yeah…not my best, but I wanted to explore this concept. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry Iggy, you drew the short straw, because using America would be just too stereo-typical.  
**

…

***ticks England off on her list of characters to kill***

**Yes, I really do have a list of characters to kill. Up next is Germany and Italy, then Romano, then Finland~ *evil face* I've already got Russia, Switzerland, Prussia twice, Canada, Spain, and now England twice.  
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***hides from angry fangirls*  
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**Review if you liked. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Concrit will be carefully noted and kept in mind. Praise will be taken with a smile.**


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